As he sat gloomily in his tent that afternoon, trying vainly to devise a fresh plan, he was told that a man wished to speak with him, and two soldiers brought in the Black Wolf.
“Ha! thou here still, fellow? They told me thou hadst fled to the French.”
“Say rather I have fled from them, your highness,” said the iron-nerved bandit, meeting the stern duke’s searching look without a sign of fear. “My comrade and I were carried captive into the town last night by a scouting party of the rogues, and he (worse luck) is still in their hands; but I brake prison and escaped, having learned somewhat that may aid your highness to take vengeance on yon scurvy old commandant, who threatened to hang me like a dog.”
“Say’st thou so?” cried the duke, his spirits rising as suddenly as they had fallen. “Let us hear quickly, then, what thou hast learned.”
The Wolf, carrying out with all the cunning that his wild and hunted life had taught him the subtle scheme devised by Du Guesclin’s ready brain, told, with a blunt frankness which might have deceived the shrewdest man alive, that the “rogue of a commandant” had been nerved to his stubborn defence by the hope of relief from an army which Du Guesclin and other Breton barons were raising; that this army was now on its way, hoping to take the English by surprise; and that he was ready to guide the duke and a chosen body of his troops to surprise it in turn.
This was quite enough for the energetic general, who never thought of doubting so plausible a story, and had no suspicion that this seemingly zealous ally was sent on purpose to mislead him. Ere night fell, Lancaster himself and the bulk of his army, guided by the Wolf, were on their march to intercept the relieving force, little thinking, in their joyful confidence of victory, that they were doing just what their enemies wished.
Just before midnight they reached the narrow, wooded defile through which, as their guide said, the French army must approach their camp. Here they halted, and, not daring to betray their presence by kindling fires, officers and men shivered through two long, cold, weary hours of vain expectation.
The night wore on, and still there was no sign of a foe; and the half-frozen English began to glance impatiently at the spot where, dimly visible in the faint moonlight, loomed the long grey mantle in which their guide had wrapped himself as he lay down. Could the French have taken another road and escaped them? Could their guide be mistaken? or was he betraying them?
The same growing suspicion disturbed their leaders, and even the duke himself, who suddenly called out—
“Bring hither yon caitiff guide; if he hath played false, he shall feed the crows on the highest tree of the forest.”